
‘Course you have,’ said Maxwell. ‘How else?’
Very early Brinkman had learned the advantage of apparent ingenuous honesty. He said, ‘It doesn’t seem to be any secret within the department that my father is attached to the Foreign Office.’
‘Hasn’t made any sort of approach to me,’ said Maxwell and Brinkman believed the man. Maxwell went on, ‘You got it because of your ability with the language and your pass-marks and your general aptitude, in all the examinations and tests.’
‘Thank you,’ said Brinkman.
‘Which don’t mean a damn, on the streets. Not much, anyway,’ deflated Maxwell. ‘Give me common sense compared with a 98% pass-mark in an examination and I’d choose common sense every time.’
‘I understand,’ said Brinkman, too glibly, regretting it as soon as he spoke.
‘No you don’t,’ said Maxwell, maintaining his directness. ‘There’s no way you can, not yet. But I think you will. Every assessment and aptitude test you’ve taken repeats the same characteristic – you’re fast on your feet. Cunning was one word used, not unkindly. And you don’t make mistakes, not twice.’
Brinkman felt the burn of embarrassment at the public examination. He wished he could think of some proper response. Knowing it was insufficient, he said, ‘I’ll try.’
Maxwell shook his head. ‘You’ve got to do better than that. I don’t want you making any mistakes, not even once. Classrooms and mock-these and mock-thats can never properly equip you for the real thing. You’re going to a sensitive place: the most sensitive place. I know you’re ambitious – that’s another finding of the aptitude tests and psychiatrists’ reports. I’m glad. Someone without ambition isn’t any good to me. But use it properly. I’m not expecting – no-one’s expecting – sensations: no Krushchev-like denunciations of Brezhnev or Andropov at secret Politburo sessions. I want steady, practical work. I want the analysis to be correct and I want the assessments to accord with the facts, as best you can obtain them. Don’t ever take a chance, to impress me or anybody else. You got that?’
